


Until Our Paths Cross

by amukmuk



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Other, kid!Cara, kid!Mando
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amukmuk/pseuds/amukmuk
Summary: Din and Cara meet throughout the years, mostly during fights.
Relationships: Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian & Cara Dune
Comments: 37
Kudos: 69





	1. The First Time

This planet is _green_. As they fly into land, Din can hardly believe the amount of green he sees. There are lush forests and mountains and honestly, it takes his breath away.

Swiveling in his chair to face his Guardian, he asks, “What is this place called again?”

“Alderaan,” he answers simply.

Din looks back out the window, admiring the view as his Guardian sets the ship down with well-practiced ease. As soon as they are completely on solid ground, Din is sliding down the ladder and darting to the weapon’s locker. The older Mandalorian follows behind him – with far less enthusiasm – and unlocks it. Reaching in, Din takes his favorite blaster and his Guardian does the same. They both holster their weapons and his Guardian reaches over and presses the button causing the ramp to lower with a hiss.

Din is almost bouncing with excitement; this is his first big bounty with his Guardian and he’s ready. He wants to prove himself. The last bounty he went on… well, things hadn’t exactly gone as planned. But he’s ready now.

“Stay with the ship,” his Guardian orders, checking his rifle and vambraces.

“What?” Din asks, shocked. His hands go limp at his sides as shoulders sink.

“Stay with the ship.”

“But I-”

His Guardian turns and gives him the look that means he’s overstepping.

“Why?” He asks, completely deflated. He had just finished his tactical assault training, passed with flying colors.

“Because you’re not ready yet.”

He feels like he’s been shot. The wind is knocked out of him and he weakly protests, “But I-”

His Guardian turns his whole body to him, and Din snaps his jaw shut. He’s cruising for a lesson in obeying orders and it normally begins with an elbow pinned behind the back.

“Yes, _buir_ ,” he grumbles, moving to sit on a crate in the hull.

“If I’m not back by nightfall, program the Crest to take you back home. Understood?”

Din closely examines a spec of dirt on his boot.

“Understood?”

“Yessir,” he mumbles again.

“Good.”

So, he watches him leave, grumbling and overall disappointed in himself. He should be better than this, better than what he is. He’ll never be a Mandalorian, not really. He’s just some kid they picked up after his parents were slaughtered like animals by machines of war.

This sucks.

He may be twelve, but he swore himself to the creed last year. He’s been training non-stop. He passed all his tests, he even did well on his mile and a half run wearing full armor. Not that he’s wearing full armor right now, he hasn’t earned his pauldrons yet, but he has a chest plate and his helmet, of course. And, in the next few months he will be training with the rising phoenix then he will really be ready. Right?

From outside, he hears a blood curling scream and suddenly a dark-haired girl comes tearing past the ramp with five boys tailing after her. He springs up and cruises down the ramp only to see them surrounding her.

“Stay away!” She shrieks, flailing her arms as if that would protect her.

He approaches slowly from behind, keeping his arm by his blaster stiff and steady. In training, he hadn’t been the fastest on the draw, but he had been pretty accurate. They circle around her tighter and she takes a sloppy swing at the ringleader.

“Is there a problem here?” Din asks.

All six of the children turn to look at him. The little girl stares at him, lips quivering and eyes glistening.

“None of your business, Mando. Kriff off,” the ringleader spits. He’s a punk. Din can recognize that much. He has light hair, greased back and a gold chain earring dangling from his ear.

“Kind of looks like it should be my business,” he moves to rest his hand on his belt.

“Why’s that? Huh?” The young teen moves up and jabs a finely manicured finger at his chest plate. “You like little girls?”

Din cocks his head to the side and glares at him, knowing that he can’t see it. “You should pick on some one your own size,” he says lamely.

“Like who? You? We’ve got you five to one,” the ringleader motions to his cronies. At least now, none of them are looking at the girl.

“Seems fair to me,” Din shrugs.

The kid swings and he’s ready. Oh, is he ready. His blood is vibrating with the excitement of a good fight and he swiftly counters the blow. With a few rapid punches to the gut, he sends the cocky piece of crap to the ground, moaning in agony.

The second boy – who is equally as greasy and cocky – rushes Din, tackling him to the ground. Using the momentum of the attack, Din sends the boy flying over him and he scrambles up just as the third boy jumps on his back. He bends at the waist, trying to toss him over his shoulders, but he doesn’t let go and they both fall to the ground in a heap. The teen manages to get a few hits on him, and he grunts as he feels the bruises bloom on his chest. He gets his knees under his attacker and throws him off.

The second boy comes at him again and Din catches his arm and breaks his elbow. He is done playing. The boy howls in pain and the third one attacks again. Din’s quick, though, and blocks the punch only to follow up with three short blows. One to the gut. One to the side of the head. One to the chin.

Whirling around, he faces the other two who hadn’t tried him yet. They shoot each other glances before running off. The first one, the ringleader – clearly deciding he hadn’t had enough – pulls a knife.

Din draws his blaster and cocks his head as a question.

He gets his answer when the ringleader turns and hightails it out of there. He waits until all the threats have run off to holster his blaster and turn to the little girl. Looking at her, she can’t be more than six. She juts her chin up, tears streaming down her cheeks, and tries to hit him.

He ducks out of the way and says, “Whoa there.”

She tries to punch him again and its truly pitiful. He catches her hand with ease and says, “Your form is all wrong.”

“Form?” She sniffles.

He nods once, quick and sharp. “Yeah, the way you hit people is weird.”

She stares at him.

He clears his throat. “Throw from your hip like this,” he demonstrates, and she follows suit. “Yeah, that’s better.”

She wipes her face, “Thanks.”

He nods again. “What did those boys want?” He tries to keep his voice gentle. He knows that most kids think the helmet is scary, but this girl doesn’t seem to be afraid of him though.

“My lunch money.”

“Your lunch money?” He asks.

She nods. “My daddy had to go away and sell some stuff,” she digs a toe into the dirt. “So, he gave me money for lunch.”

Din nods again, slower. “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head. “No… too busy tryna keep my money,” she taps her pocket proudly.

He shifts his wait back and forth, looks back to the ship and then offers. “I can walk you somewhere if you want.” He feels the overwhelming need to protect her and in the back of his mind he can hear the whisper.

_Foundlings are the future._

“Sure,” she shrugs.

“Okay, um,” he looks back at the ship again, remembering his Guardian’s order to stay with the ship. “Let me lock up the ship first,” he jogs off and she scurries after him.

“Whoa! You have a ship!? That’s so cool!”

“Well, its not mine,” he clarifies as the ramp hisses back up.

“Still pretty cool,” she gives him a nod off approval. Then her eyes grow wide and she gasps, “How many planets have you been to?!”

“Just a few.”

“That’s really cool. I’ve only been here.”

He nods in response.

They keep walking with her sticking close to his side. He keeps his hand by his blaster steady as they maneuver through the crowd of people. He can feel them staring, but he tries not to pay attention to it.

“Hey mister,” she tugs on his arm and he flinches. “I have a question.”

He looks down at her. _Here it comes_.

“What’s your name?”

That is… not the question he was expecting. “Just call me Mando,” he answers.

She nods, and in a sing-song voice says, “My name is Carasynthia Dune!”

He smirks under his helmet at how proud she is of her name. “That’s pretty,” he compliments.

“Yeah, it was my great-granny’s name.”

She seems to know where she is going now and she takes the lead, strutting up to one booth in particular. “Hi!”

“Hey Cara-Bean!” The old lady smiles and then grimaces when she sees Din. He tries not to let his heart sink at the look he gets. “The usual, sweetie?”

Carasynthia nods with excitement and eagerly hands her the money. The old lady hands her a huge, cheesy pastry and Din’s mouth stings with a sudden rush of saliva flooding his mouth.

As if reading his mind, the little girl says, “Don’t worry, I’ll share.”

“Oh, no. It’s yours,” he says.

She shrugs and digs in.

They walk back together, with her munching loudly and his stomach rumbling. He worked up quite the appetite and hasn’t eaten since before they landed anyway. When they arrive back at the ship, he unlocks it and they sit together on the ramp. He begins to fear that there will be no getting rid of her now.

“Can I ask another question?” She asks. She has crumbs all over her round cheeks.

“Sure.”

“Why do you wear all that stuff?”

_There it is_.

“Because it’s part of my religion,” he answers.

She bounces once. “That’s pretty cool.”

He looks down at her. Cool? He’s only ever been teased. “Really?”

She nods and bounces a little again, “Mhm! I wish I had cool clothes like you!”

It’s the first time he really notices what she’s wearing: a light blue dress with her dark hair braided back into pig tails. Just then, an older man bursts into the hangar. “Cara!” He bellows.

The girl jumps up, “Daddy!”

“Cara, come here right now!”

Her eyes widen and she darts towards him. “But this is my new friend, Mando!”

Din stands as her dad yanks her harder than necessary by the wrist. “Stay away from my daughter,” he growls.

Din doesn’t say anything but watches as she gets hauled away.

“Mandalorians are very dangerous, Cara-bean. You need to stay away from them.”

She doesn’t seem to listen though because she twists around and waves with a broad smile plastering her face. “Bye, Mando!”

He raises a hand, but he can’t bring himself to utter any words. It’s the first time he has been called dangerous and he’s not certain he likes the title.


	2. The Second Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara Dune is twelve the second time they meet.

She gets punched in the face, hard. Staggering backwards, she tries to keep her hands up. The guy comes swinging again and she bobs and weaves. At twelve, she’s pretty small, and this guy is clearly used to fighting people his own size. She kicks him in the gut with more force than he was expecting, and he stumbles back.

That’ll teach him to underestimate people. She grew up with a smuggler. She had to learn to fight for herself. Ever since that Mandalorian taught her to punch, she hasn’t stopped. Over the years, she and her dad had gotten themselves into some pretty dangerous situations. No one is going to take her down without a fight. No one.

She swings again, hitting the teen so hard on the side of the head that he falls down, face first. Knockout.

The crowd boos, but she swaggers to the fight club owner, ready to collect. “I’ll take my credits,” she states and tries not to let the blood dripping into her eye distract her.

He tosses them at her with a huff.

“This isn’t what we agreed on.”

“It’s what you get. Now get out of here, kid.”

She glares at him and she wants to fight him too, but she’s tired. She’s tired and she just wants enough money to get off this rock and go home. Snatching up the credits, she storms out. She escapes out the back and falls onto the steps. Her throat is tightening and her eyes sting with tears that she refuses to let spill over.

“Hey, are you alright?” She looks up to see a Mandalorian before her. His bucket looks familiar, but then again, she’s pretty sure they all wear the same bucket anyway.

“Yeah,” she wipes her face haphazardly with the backs of her hands.

He doesn’t say anything but shifts his weight back and forth. “Um… You’re bleeding.”

“And?” Her head snaps up, going on the defensive. She’s already calculating how to beat him in a fight. He’s tall and wiry. The weak point in his armor is between his shoulder and chest and just above the belt.

He looks to the door of the fight club and back to her. “I – uh – I have a medkit if you…” he trails off.

She sizes him up; she knows Mandalorians are supposed be dangerous, but free medical aid sounds nice. Plus, her gut is saying that she can trust him.

She holds out her hand, “Help me up?”

He pulls her up so easily it makes her think that he is either really strong or she is lighter than she thought.

She expects him to escort her to his ship or something, but he pulls a few bacta patches out of a pouch on his utility belt. Looking at said belt, she realizes that he is _armed_. He has a nice-looking blaster and a few charges strapped there as well. When he moves closer, she doesn’t flinch away. He has a warm presence, despite all his cold armor. More gently than she was expecting from a fierce warrior, he presses the patch to her temple and steps back.

“There,” he nods once, short and quick.

“Thanks,” she steps back.

They stand there for a moment and he looks at the door of the fight club again. She thinks idly that he must be meeting someone or something. Instead he asks, “You hungry?”

Her stomach grumbles at the question and she folds her arms across her chest. “Yeah, why?”

“The diner next door looked like it might have good food.”

She almost agrees, but then says, “I don’t have any money.”

“I’ll buy,” he offers, tilting his head to the side.

She eyes him again. “Why are you helping me?”

He shifts his weight again. “It’s just lunch.”

“I thought Mandalorians were supposed to be dangerous.”

He starts walking and she follows, nonetheless. “Who said I was a Mandalorian? I could have killed one and taken his armor.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “I’ve seen a Mandalorian fight. No one can kill a Mandalorian.”

Now he scoffs. “I wish that were true.”

“I’m Carasynthia by the way,” she reaches out. It feels like the adult thing to do, shaking someone’s hand.

He takes her hand. “You can just call me Mando.”

She’s suddenly flashed back to when she was six in the shipyard. She remembers the young Mandalorian – how could she forget him? The young Mandalorian then didn’t have his shoulder guards, or a loaded utility belt. He had been small, skinny, and his voice was a lot higher than this Mandalorian’s. “Hey,” she says.

He turns his head towards her. She can’t tell if it’s the same guy. His bucket is nearly identical, but his armor has changed. _He_ has changed. He’s taller and thicker, which isn’t saying much considering how lean he still is. “Are you the Mando I met on Alderaan?”

He stops walking, and his head tilts to the side. “You’re little Carasynthia Dune?”

She rolls her eyes, “Little, yeah.” If she had a credit chip for every time she had heard that word used followed by her name, she wouldn’t have to fight in stupid fight clubs.

“Well…” she thinks she hears him laugh. “You were little five years ago.”

“Six,” she corrects.

He looks at her.

“Six. I remember. You saved my life and taught me how to punch.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response and opens the door for her. She enters and he follows her to a booth in the corner where he sits with his back to the wall, facing the door. The waitress comes up and takes their order – or her order rather. He orders nothing. Cara puts her elbows on the table and then rests her chin in her hands. “Do you ever take that thing off?”

“Yes,” he answers. 

The woman brings her tea and she takes a long, strong swig. “When?”

He quits surveying the room and looks at her. “When I’m by myself.”

“So no one has ever seen your face?”

“I have.”

She rolls her eyes and her food is placed in front of her. “Thanks,” she mutters to him, already digging in. _Stars_ , she can’t remember the last time she had a good, proper meal.

He nods and settles further into the booth, resting his arm on the table. “So, what drug you into an underground fight club?”

She swallows. “My dad died. I’m trying to get enough money to get back to Alderaan.”

“And fighting seemed like the best choice?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

The answer hangs between them. What else was she to do? He is struck by how mature she is, but then again when he thinks about himself at twelve, he already knew 100 ways to kill someone. By twelve, he had already sworn himself to the Creed, vowed to be a warrior for the rest of his life. He’s done a lot in the last six years. For a moment, he pictures her in Mandalorian armor and his stomach twists.

His comm buzzes telling him that his bounty is in the club and will likely be making a move to the rear exit, reminding him of why he is on this smuggler’s rock to begin with.

Leaning forward he speaks, “Look, I can’t offer you a ride. I’m not here by myself.” He pulls out a pouch and spills the credits on the table. “This should cover it. Okay?”

“What? Mando.”

He holds up his hand. “Take it. Keep yourself out of trouble.”

“I can’t.”

“Take it.”

He goes to stand.

“Wait,” she moves to grab his wrist, but doesn’t. “Thanks.”

He nods.

“My dad was wrong about you.”

“What?”

“I mean,” she shifts and tries to organize her thoughts. “He said to stay away from your kind. That you’re dangerous.”

“We are.”

She rolls her eyes; no one who buys her lunch and a ticket home can really be _that_ dangerous. “Thanks. I won’t forget it.”

He nods and she watches him go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos <3 I love our brotp <3


	3. The Third Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Cara meet again, in the middle of a fight of course.

Today sucks. Today sucks in so many ways. First, he finds his bounty in a whorehouse. Fine, he’s hauled bounties out of more precarious situations. But the guy is so freaking high that he practically has to carry the fully naked man out, while he kicks and screams that he didn’t pay to be manhandled by a metal man. He then proceeds to puke all over his boots.

Great. Just great.

Din finally manages to get the man to put clothes on, but he is creating such a racket that half of the people in the lower town are watching. Again, not exactly something he appreciates. Not only is he a Mandalorian, but now he is a Mandalorian trying to kidnap someone – a half-naked someone.

Second, the guild chose not to let him know that there was more than one bounty on this idiot. This just resulted in a brawl in the main square. Din hates these kinds of fights – the kind where he has to watch both his back and his bounty’s. Would it kill him to have an easy job just _once?_

In all honesty, the fight was going pretty well until he tried to push his bounty out of the line of fire and took a blaster bolt to the stomach – right where his armor and belt split, the one weak spot in his defense.

Great, just _fucking_ great.

When he falls back, immediately feeling the sting of the bolt entering his body, he deeply considers his life choices. It is one of those moments where he just lays there and asks himself just how, _how_ , he managed to get himself in a position where he is bleeding out, a naked is man screaming in terror, and a brooding bounty hunter is looming over him, telling him “better luck next time”.

He cut his losses.

Now, all he wants is to make it back to the Razor Crest so he can cauterize this damn wound. He keeps one handed folded over the wound and the other resting on his blaster. Everyone in the square saw him. Everyone saw him get shot. Everyone knows Mandalorians are wanted by the Empire. The price of his armor alone could feed these people for months. Turning in a live Mandalorian to the Empire?

The price on his head could probably feed them for a year.

He moves through the throng of people with as much swift calmness that he can manage. He’s pretty certain that he’s being followed, and he’s starting to get lightheaded. The blood oozing out of his wound has reached a circumference that cannot be covered by just his hand. Trying to lose his tail, he cuts down an alley only to discover that it is a dead end.

Damn it all to hell.

“Where you going, Mando?” He cringes and turns around, slowly, his hand dancing by his blaster.

He says nothing and watches the gang move towards him. Six humans, a fair fight really if he wasn’t currently in the process of bleeding out and in general just having a piss-poor day. What he wouldn’t give to just melt into the ground below him. He just wants to be in his ship away from the skeevy people that tend to run around this part of town.

“You know they say that beskar is worth quite a bit,” the ringleader moves forward.

Din straightens, ignoring the vehement protests of his torn open abdomen. He’s not going to go down without a fight, and he certainly isn’t going to die in the back of an alley.

“A Mandalorian is worth even more if you sell it to the Empire,” another says.

“Maybe we could strip you for parts and sell your body to the empire. Storm trooper uniforms aren’t much different, right?”

Din takes a steadying breath and waits. The ringleader swings first and he is quick to block the first blow but not the second. His attacker’s fist lands right in his bloody wound and he sees stars.

This is it.

He _is_ going to die in a dark alley, bleeding out, uncovered because a group of scrapper trash decided to sell his armor for profit. He shoves the guy back and pulls his blaster, firing a shot. He’s pretty sure it’s a hit, but the world is spinning a little right now.

No. It didn’t hit. Because there is someone pulling on his helmet now. Din grabs the man’s wrists and twists them back, hearing them snap.

“Get away from him!” He hears blaster fire and looks up.

Is that Carasynthia?

A teenager with long black hair moves forward. She’s wearing what looks to be a school uniform, but she’s clutching a blaster in her hand. 

She shoots two men and he gathers enough of himself to shoot two more. Falling in a heap on the concrete, he clutches his side. He needs to cauterize this. The bleeding needs to stop now before he passes out. The world is already dangerously wobbly.

“Hey. Mando,” she kneels in front of him, looking him in the visor. “Are you my Mando?”

“Hey Carasynthia,” he slurs.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding a lot.”

He nods.

Carasynthia looks around and hauls him to his feet. “Hey, stick with me. I have room around the corner. I think I have some bacta. Come on.”

“I thought you were on Alderaan,” he staggers next to her, looking like a drunkard.

“I was. I’m on a school mission trip right now.”

“School mission trip? I didn’t think you religious,” he comments.

“We’re here to help the needy… Spread the word of a cause worth being a part of.”

_Ah._ That kind of mission trip. He’s heard of rebel forces from Alderaan spreading hope for the rebellion. Makes sense that she would want to be a part of that.

“Well I’m glad you’re not fighting in underground clubs anymore.”

“No, I still do that if I need some extra cash.”

He sighs as they enter a building and she shuffles them to the elevator. That also makes sense, her still fighting. She’s pretty good with a blaster from what he can tell. And if she is half as good fighting as she is with a blaster, she’s probably pretty deadly.

She lives on the third floor and her room is quaint and quiet. There walls are painted white and she has no decorations, but a small framed photo on a table by the front entry way. His legs feel twice as heavy as they normally do, and she increases her grip on him as she shuffles him back towards her bedroom. She tosses him onto the bed, and he doesn’t fight it. His body feels so heavy, so cold, so sluggish.

“Mando! Hey! Talk or something. I can’t see your face.”

“What should I talk about?”

“I don’t know. Your family.”

“I don’t have a family,” he mutters. His field of vision is tunneling rapidly. His tongue feels thick and dry and his mind is sluggish. Where is he?

“Then your ship. Places you’ve been.”

“Or I could just sleep,” he slurs.

“No, no, you need to stay awake.”

He tries, he really does. He moves his head over so that he can see her scrambling for a bacta patch, and he passes out.

His mouth feels like it is filled with cotton and he shifts to sit up. A groan escapes his lips before he gets fully upright when he feels the pulling of freshly growing skin on his abdomen. Looking down, he sees that some of the fabric has been cut away and patch has been placed neatly over his skin. His stomach drops. With shaking hands, he reaches up for his helmet. Feeling that its still there, he lets the breath he was holding escape with a hiss.

“You’re alive,” he hears from the floor. Leaning against the dresser, legs pulled up to her chest is Carasynthia Dune, again.

They should probably quit meeting like this, with one of them in need.

“Feels like it,” he mutters, his tongue still thick and dry in his mouth.

“You lost a lot of blood though… I’m not a doctor, but you might want to hang here for a while before you try and get back to your ship.”

He nods. A few beats of tense silence pass between them and he whispers, “You didn’t – uh – did you remove my helmet at all?”

She shakes her head, “No. You told me once that your armor is your religion.”

He nods, “Thanks.”

“What the hell happened to you?” She asks, standing.

He groans and lays back down in the plush bed. “Don’t ask,” he sighs.

“Well, I ordered take out. My roommate will probably be back soon, but… I’ll tell her to kick it. She’s slept with half of the city at this point, I’ve been staying with another girl down the hall.”

“I’ll be okay,” he comments as he tries to get up. The world swooshes and he flops back down.

“Mando, you’ve saved my life twice, let me help you out this time. Okay?”

There is a knock at the door and they both freeze. She puts a finger to her lips and whispers, “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He still stands though, after she exits, and pulls his blaster. He waits behind the door of the bedroom and listens to the conversation at the door.

“Hey Carasynthia, sorry, I lost my key.” The girl at the door sounds drunk or high or both, Din notes.

“Hey Evianna, I have someone over right now. Do you think you can bunk with a friend tonight? Don’t tell Mrs. Bochek.”

“Of course! Tell him I said heyyyy.” The vowel of the greeting is long and drug out, lilting at the end.

The door swooshes shut, and he can hear his friend sighing in relief behind it. Entering back into the bedroom, she looks at him. “Well at least you can stand now,” she shrugs. “Do you want something to drink? I have some water in the fridge.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he says with a nod. His whole mouth feels like cotton swabs have been stuffed in it. He follows her out into the small kitchenette where she pulls out the water canteen and tosses it to him. “Thanks,” he says with a nod.

It looks like she is about to say something when there is another knock at the door. He slinks into the kitchenette, out of view of the door and Carasynthia goes to answer. It’s just the food this time and he’s never been more grateful in his life. He’s starving.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I kinda just ordered a couple things. Whatever you don’t eat I’ll just have for morning meal tomorrow,” she shrugs as she unpacks all the food.

“Thank you,” he nods. He waits for her to take whatever she wants and then he picks a rice dish that looks – and smells – appetizing even through the bluish tint of his visor.

“Um, I’ll eat out here, you can eat in the bedroom. Or vice versa. Just,” she takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“I’ll eat in the bedroom,” he clarifies and goes back there. Easing himself onto the bed with his water bottle and container of food, he lets himself relax. He pulls his helmet off and shakes out his dark brown locks. The room looks different, clearly two teenage girls have been living here and he suddenly feels uncomfortable. He just turned twenty-two and these girls are… well, _girls_.

While Din tears into his food, he tries to let the discomfort dissipate. Ugh, he is so hungry. He shovels his food in as quickly as possible and chugs his water. He hasn’t eaten since this morning and after almost bleeding out, he is _starving_. With the adrenaline rushing through him all day, he hadn’t felt how the rolling pang in his stomach.

When he finishes, he slides his helmet back on and wanders out to find the teenager, sitting on the small sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table as she scrolls through the channels on the holoprojector. “If you’re thinking of coming over here and sitting with me, think again.” His heart freezes in his chest, does she actually think he would try something? “You smell terrible. There’s a small washer and dryer in the bathroom, it should be able to do a quick cycle on your suit.”

Without uttering a word, he turns and goes back from whence he came and investigates the washroom. Just like she said, there was a small washer dryer unit, as well as a sonic for him to clean off in.

What the hell.

He strips, throwing everything in the small washer, and turns on the water for the sonic. He quickly rinses off and uses some of her soap with a shrug. If he smells like lavender, who cares? At least he doesn’t smell like blood, sweat, and vomit.

By the time he gets out, his suit has been washed and dried. He eases it back on, mindful of his wound and meanders back out to the front room. He’s put everything back on, except his boots. They need cleaned and he doesn’t want to wear them around on her carpet anymore than necessary, so he drops them by the front door and comes back into the living room.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” she doesn’t look away from the screen. “You can sleep wherever.”

Din sits down in the chair next to the couch. He wants to talk to her, but he’s not certain what to say. It’s her that starts the conversation, though.

“Is it true what they say… about Mandalore?”

It hits him like a ton of bricks. Out of all the things she could have brought up, she brings up the massacre of his people.

“What is it that they say?” He counters.

She looks at him. “Depends. In school we learned about how you peacefully laid down your arms to serve the empire…”

He snorts and shakes his head.

“But I know better. You are warriors. You would never surrender.”

Din is silent for a moment before he answers. “The empire slaughtered my people like animals… I… I was young, I wasn’t on Mandalore… but…” He trails off and looks at his feet.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but,” she looks at the holoprojection of some comedy movie. “The resistance is forming, you should join.”

He shakes his head, “No.”

“Well I’m joining. As soon as I turn eighteen. Fuck the empire.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you,” he mumbles.

“I’m not scared,” she growls.

He doesn’t say anything but leans back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest. He can feel sleep claiming him. For once feels comfortable, relaxed even. Normally, he only feels this way deep in hyperspace when he is alone in the Razor Crest.

With a sigh, she gets up. Patting his pauldron on her way out, she says, “Get some sleep.”

He wakes to the sound of someone loading a blaster and is immediately is up, standing, blaster cocked at Carasynthia Dune.

“Good morning, Mando,” she’s folded up on the floor cleaning her blaster – or what she probably considers a blaster.

He considers it an accident waiting to happen. “What is that?” He nods at the death trap in her hand.

“A blaster, duh,” she rolls her eyes.

“No. That’s a cheap excuse for a blaster. That thing is going to blow up in your hand.”

She eyes him. “How can you tell?”

He stares at her.

“Right. Mandalorian.”

“Weapons are part of my religion.”

She waves him off, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He turns the safety on his and hands it to her, grip first. “Take mine.”

She looks at him in shock. “What?”

He shakes the blaster at her. “Take it.”

“Um, what will you use if I take your blaster?”

“I have loads back in the Crest. Take it,” he says again.

She takes it from his hand and immediately loves it. It’s smooth, well balanced, and the grip fits perfectly in her hand. “This is nice.”

He snorts, “I know.”

“Why are you so nice to me all the time, Mando?” She asks.

“You saved my life.”

“Yeah, but you saved mine first.”

He tilts his head to the side. “This is the Way.”

She nods and he moves to the door and slips on his boots. Cara watches him and when he goes to leave, she says, “Hey Mando, stay out of trouble. I don’t want to pull you out of an alley again any time soon.”

“Same goes to you,” he nods and exits.


	4. The Fourth Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara joins the rebellion; Din loses everything.

Bombs explode as he sprints through the covert halls. The only thing he can think of is _not again, not like this_. He grabs his blaster and goes to head up and fight when an elder catches him. “Djarin, no.”

“But I can fight!” He shouts. He wasn’t there to defend Mandalore, but he isn’t about to let them lose again.

“I know you can,” the older man says. “We’re taking the foundlings.”

“What?”

“Gather the foundlings and meet me at the rear entrance. Go! Now!”

Din doesn’t need to be told twice as he sprints away from the battle, back through the covert halls to the school room. Bursting through the door, he is shot square in the chest. He falls back, groaning, the wind completely knocked out of him. He can feel the bruise blooming under his chest plate, and he sucks in a deep breath.

“Din! I’m so sorry!” A little girl rushes up to him – Helena he thinks is her name. “I was told by the Matriarch to shoot first, ask later.”

“It’s okay,” he waves her off and sits up, still struggling to breathe properly. “It was a good shot.”

Her shoulders push back with pride. She hasn’t earned her pauldrons yet, but she wears her chest plate and helmet with the particular pride of a foundling recently swearing to the Creed.

He pulls himself up. “All of you with me. Older foundlings partner up with a younger one. We will be moving in stealth tactical format. I will be point. If anything happens – keep moving towards the rear exit by the landing field. Someone will be there to escort you to safety.”

They all nod is response.

Din turns to the door, blaster drawn, and moves with practiced ease through the covert halls. He says a silent thanks that they don’t have any babies right now. Fighting storm troopers while holding a baby would be twice as difficult.

As they move, a platoon of storm troopers round the corner and Din open fires as he seeks cover behind some crates in the hall. Helena, on his left, does the same and scrambles behind crates on the opposite side of the hall. She handles herself like she’s been a Mandalorian her whole life. Except she hasn’t been, she joined their covert three years ago. Her family, like his, were executed by the Empire.

He suddenly finds himself torn on what to do next. There are twelve storm troopers ahead and equally as many foundlings he wants to keep moving, but there could be worse up ahead, Death Troopers.

“Din!” Helena shouts over the blaster fire. “Go! Lead them to the Crest! I’ll hold them off!” The eleven-year old orders.

“No!” He shouts and shoots a trooper in the head.

“This is the Way!” She shouts.

His heart breaks. He can’t just leave her here to die. He’s done a lot of terrible things, but he’s not about to just _leave_ a little girl to defend her covert because she wants to prove herself. “Cover me!” He orders and she does.

He sprints over to her side and says, “I’m not leaving you. Stay here. Protect them. I’ll circle around and attack from behind.”

She nods once and adjusts her grip on her blaster. He sprints around the halls and back behind the platoon. With his vibroblade, he manages to take two of them silently and swiftly. Three turn and take notice. He roasts one quickly with his torch and shoots another with his blaster. The third shoots but misses, and Din quickly turns his blaster on him too.

He notices then that his cover fire has stopped and his heart sinks. Suddenly five storm troopers are aware of his presence and turn to him at once. He shoots two quickly and the other three charge him. He is knocked to the ground and his blaster skids out of his hand. One storm trooper bashes him over the head with the butt of his rifle, causing his head to knock around in his helmet. He feels his nose start to bleed but doesn’t have time to focus on his injuries right now.

Grabbing the storm trooper’s leg from underneath him, Din stabs him with his vibroblade and rises. The other two storm troopers try to tag team him. Din swiftly snatches the rifle out of the first one’s hands and shoves them together. He pulls the trigger and the blaster bolt goes through both of them.

Adrenaline hums through him as his chest heaves from the thrill of a close call. Throwing down the rifle, he reclaims his blaster and darts off to the foundlings.

Behind the creates, he sees the young girl holding her shoulder, blood oozing heavily between her gloved fingers. “Helena,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

“Take the others,” she croaks. He can tell from the strain in her voice that she is trying not to cry.

“Not an option,” he hauls her up and she whimpers softly.

“I’m sorry,” she cries into his armor-covered shoulder.

“You did great, verd’ika,” he murmurs. “All of you,” he looks to the others. “With me. You,” he points to the next oldest – Adir. “Watch my flank. We keep our form tight and we stick together.”

They nod and move swiftly forward once more. A few more storm troopers leap out from corners, but Din manages to shield Helena and eliminate them without too much grief.

They surface. The covert elder is there, waiting, ready to provide an escort to the Crest.

“Foundlings,” The Elder begins. “This is no man’s land. Run as fast as you can and look out for those younger than you.”

They all nod again and ready themselves for the race for their lives. “Now!” He booms and the dozen take off.

They sprint. Din shifts his grip on Helena, and she cries out in pain. He tries to squelch his guilt for her even getting hurt in the first plate. Why had he relied on a eleven-year old for cover? She wasn’t ready for battle yet, and he still made her do it.

It doesn’t take long for the Empire forces to notice a flock of Mandalorians making way through a shipyard to their only escape and they open fire. Din and the Elder start providing cover fire for the foundlings.

“Din! Keep going! Don’t stop! You’re the only one that can fly that thing!” The elder booms as he provides more cover fire.

“I can’t leave without you!” Din shouts back, twisting so that he takes a blaster bolt to the pauldron and Helena is spared.

“Go! You have the foundlings! They’ll contact you when they find another covert! This is the Way!”

Din chokes down the bile rising in his throat and nods. “This is the Way!” He pulls ahead. As they approach the Crest, Din opens the hatch. The foundlings all scramble in as he provides more cover fire. He tries not to pay attention when he sees the covert elder collapse after being shot.

Entering, he sets Helena down. “The Medkit is on the wall. Tourniquet her arm to get the bleeding to stop,” he orders the oldest as he flies up the ladder.

Maybe because they have already suffered enough, or maybe because they are lucky, nobody tails them. He navigates them further out of the system and spies a backwater planet on the star chart.

Yavin IV.

There are rumors of a rebel base there. Maybe they could help. If not, at least it is far out of Imperial reach with no active star port. He sets the autopilot and takes a steadying breath. His blood is still rushing through his ears, making a whooshing sound that he has come to associate with battle.

The foundlings made it.

Going back down, he finds the dozen children in various stages of disarray. Everyone looks shocked, shoulders slumped inward, heads pointed everywhere but at him. This was their first real battle, and no one really knows him. He’s never around often enough to let them know him anyway. They just know his name, that he was a foundling, and that he is now the hunter.

“Everyone okay?” He asks. Looking at them, it doesn’t look like there are any major injuries.

No one responds and he lets that be the last of his forced socialization with them. He kneels besides Helena and looks at her arm. It’s more serious than he thought. The bolt didn’t go clean through and it looks like it may have clipped her shoulder bone. Without bacta, she will be lucky to regain full use of it. She shakes slightly and he grabs the last of his bacta gel from the medkit splayed out on the floor. As gently as he can manage, he squeezes it onto her wound, causing her to yelp.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Just be brave for a little while longer.”

Her breathing is labored, rough ins and outs as she forces herself not to scream out in anguish.

“This will have to do for now,” he murmurs and goes to stand.

“What about you?” She huffs.

“What about me?”

She lifts her good arm and points at his bicep. He looks down and sees dark red seeping through a tear in his olive body suit.

He hadn’t even felt it.

“I’ll be okay,” he reassures, just now feeling it burn. Straightening to his full height he looks at everyone. “Clean your weapons and armor. Try to get some rest. We’ll be landing in four hours.” 

They nod and he turns to go up the ladder.

“Thank you,” the littlest one says.

He has one hand on the rung. Thank you? _Thank you_? He barely got them out of there alive and now he has no idea what to do. “This is the Way,” he responds and climbs up the ladder.

His arm is still tender from the freshly cauterized wound, but he has to keep moving. He is the sole provider now and he must protect them. He lowers himself down into the hull and looks at the dozen. They are ready for battle, all of them. Their blasters and armor are spotless, and they all stand, weapons at the ready.

He allows himself to feel proud of these kids and, in a moment of bravery, he allows himself to say it. “I’m really proud of you all.”

They straighten up and beam at him.

“You all are very brave…” he trails off. “And you need to continue to do so until we find the covert,” he shifts his weight. “I need you all to look out for each other. Protect each other. I’m going to take a look around, maybe find lodging.”

They nod.

The oldest steps forward, “Let me come with you.”

He is reminded of himself, always eager to prove that he is worthy of being a Mandalorian.

“No,” he says. “Stay here. Protect the foundlings. They are the future.”

“This is the Way,” the boy nods.

“This is the Way,” Din echoes.

Stepping off the Razor Crest, Din’s first thought is that it is disgustingly humid. He rotates his shoulders, checks his blaster, rifle, and vambraces before he begins his quest. He first checks the immediate perimeter, making sure that nothing will attack the foundlings and then he sets out further. It’s dark here, and he’s so thrown off from his travels, he’s not certain if he should be sleeping now too, or not.

He’s only made it a few meters from the Crest when he hears a gruff female voice from behind him. “Freeze.”

He stops and considers reaching for his blaster. But, if there is any hope, it is a rebel. Slowly, he turns and nearly collapses to his knees.

“Cara?”

“Mando?” She lowers her rifle.

“You’re alive?” His voice cracks.

She grimaces.

“I – I heard about Alderaan.”

“Yeah. What are you doing here?”

“I need some help.”

“My help?”

“If you’re able. The empire attacked our covert. I have the children with me. One is injured and we need a place to lay low for a little while.”

“Fuck. They left you babysitting?”

“Foundlings are the future,” he answers tersely.

She waves. “Yeah, yeah. Show me to them and I’ll give you an escort to the base.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve saved my neck a couple times.”

“I know… but I’m asking a lot. I don’t have much to offer right now.”

“Mando, our people have been hunted and slaughtered. I’ll do anything to help you save what’s left of them.”

“Thank you.”

She remains silent as she follows him back to the ship. When she enters, she is nearly shot by a young boy with a rifle.

“Stand down,” Din barks. “This is Cara Dune. She’s…” he trails off and looks at her. A friend? What is she?

“I’m a Rebellion Drop Trooper. I’m going to escort you back to base.”

“We have a wounded one,” the boy states, motioning to Helena on the floor.

“We can provide medical aid.”

This seems to perk them up. She realizes then that they weren’t planning on coming with her unless she said that they could all go – that there was a place for all of them, even the wounded.

A true team.

Back on base, intelligence jumps on Mando, trying to ensure he’s not a spy. Cara pushes through, trying to reassure that he’s not a threat, but what really gets them to stand down are the twelve young Mandalorian warriors all with their blasters trained anyone foolish enough to take their Guardian.

The first place they go is Medbay to drop off the injured girl. The second place they go is an empty room that is way too small for all of them, but it’s all she can offer. At the very least, it has a private refresher for them to use.

“Thank you,” he says.

“I just wish I could offer more.”

“This is enough. Thank you.”

She nods and leaves him with the twelve children. When the door hisses shut, he looks at them. The youngest starts crying, and he is suddenly at a loss of what to do. These kids had never seen true battle before and the adrenaline had finally left them weak and shaky.

Stran, the littlest one, starts sobbing, his poor, little body shaking as he sniffles.

Din struggles for what to do, so he simply says, “Hey.”

The six-year old looks up at him and sobs. “I’m sorry… I’m so – so scared.”

He kneels in order to be on his level, “That’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.”

“Really?” Another child asks, scooting closer.

“Of course,” he answers and Stran throws his arms around Din’s neck. Now he’s really in uncharted territory. Hesitant – remembering his own mother from memories that seem more like nightmares now – he wraps his arms around the child. This feels right, this is what she did when he cried.

“Why?” Adir, the oldest, asks. “Fear just makes you weak.”

Din shakes his head. “Fear keeps you safe. Being scared…” he pauses to try and collect his thoughts as all eleven visors turn to listen to him. “It’s okay to be scared because it keeps you a warrior. Warriors fight to protect something they’re scared of losing.”

“Like you fought for us?” Another young Mandalorian steps closer.

“Exactly like that,” he croaks.

With that, they all step closer – some crying, others shocked into silence. He can’t embrace them all, but damn it, he tries. He pulls them all in, their beskar helmets clanking together as he does.

They drift to sleep like that, in a pile on the floor.

In the morning, Cara comes and escorts them to the chow hall. There, they try and work out the logistics of feeding a flock of foundlings without anyone seeing their faces. They end up taking turns in a supply closet. Cara and Din stand guard as the younglings rush in, scarf down their food, and exit.

“Look, Mando,” Cara shifts awkwardly as one of the foundlings darts out and another one enters. “I have some bad news.”

His mind darts to Helena, but he tries to keep calm. “What?”

“Command wants you to serve in return for their hospitality.”

“Serve?”

“They’re dropping us tomorrow night into an Imperial city. They want you to come with us.”  
“Why?” He already knows the answer.

“Because you’re a Mandalorian.”

“Yeah. But I’m just _one_ Mandalorian.”

A beat of silence passes between them as another exchange happens.

“I can’t leave them,” Din says. They both know what he means. He’s the only one that can take care of them. The only adult they have left right now.

“I’m sorry,” is all that Cara says and they both know what that means too. He has no other choice.

After breakfast, he points the foundlings to the training room and tells them not to start any trouble and to stick with the buddy system. Cara takes him to the infirmary. When they find Helena’s room, she mumbles something about waiting outside as he goes in.

He pulls back the curtain and is baffled. A little girl with bright orange hair and freckles is laying in Helena’s bed. He must have the wrong room.

The little girl stirs at his presence, her golden eyes widening. “Hey D – I mean, Mando.”

“They uncovered you.” He means to ask, but his voice is so filled with anger, the question falls flat.

She nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want them to, but – but,” she sniffles. He can see her working through her emotions on her face. “They made me fall asleep and I woke up…”

Din storms out, breezing past Cara and up to the Doctor.

“Who did that to her?” He barks, trying – desperately – to keep a lid on his anger.

The doctor turns calmly to Din. “We had to remove her armor to perform surgery.”

“You _uncovered_ her,” Din spits. “You _violated_ our _religion_.”

“I’m sorry that your religion is so archaic that you would rather your people die than receive proper medical attention.”

He snaps. He sees red and has nothing to do with his visor. He lands a solid punch on the doctor’s perfectly shaved jaw before the medical staff are on him. He throws them off easily and comes for the doctor again, punching him in the nose this time.

“Get him the hell out of here!” The doctor sputters, cupping his nose as blood streams down his chin. Before Din knows it, Cara is hauling him out into the corridor.

He lets her.

In the corridor, Din leans against the wall, resting his head against it while his chest heaves.

“What’s the big deal, Mando! She can just put the helmet back on!” Cara throws her hands up in the air, clearly frustrated with the whole situation.

“No… She can’t.” He growls.

“What?”

“Our helmets… cannot be removed by others or in the presence of others… She cannot be a Mandalorian anymore… She can’t come back with me when we leave.”

“I…” she trails off and looks at her feet.

“I’m not sorry,” he spits.

“You don’t need to be,” Cara settles against the wall across from him. “What he did was wrong.”

He huffs and looks down the hallway, trying to find a point to focus on so he can cool off.

“You need a drink.”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, straightening.

“Tonight, after you put the kiddos to bed, I’ll fish out a bottle.”

“I shouldn’t leave them.”

They start walking down the hall. “I think they would understand for one night.”

“What time do we leave tomorrow?”

“1900.”

He nods. “Okay, I’ll meet you.”

Once the kids are fully asleep, Din finds Cara outside of one of the hangars, bottle of rum in her hand. He follows her wordlessly and when she begins climbing one of the pyramids, he follows without question. At the top she settles and unscrews the lid.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a swig and passes the bottle to him.

He looks at the bottle, then to her and back to the bottle. “I can’t,” he says.

“Oh… right… Wait,” she turns around puts her back to him. “I promise I won’t look.”

He looks at her back and turns and puts his back to hers. Carefully, he pulls the helmet off and she hears the hiss of it detaching. Then, she hears him swallow and set the bottle back at her side.

“That’s garbage,” he says. His voice sounds deeper and it catches her off guard for a moment.

Eventually, she apologizes again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault it’s garbage,” he chuckles.

“No, I mean,” she huffs and takes a swig, passing the bottle back to him. “I’m sorry people don’t respect your religion like they should.”

“I’m used to it,” he sighs, passing the bottle back.

“And I’m sorry command…” she trails off.

“Don’t apologize for that. It’s fair enough. But after we’re done…” He takes a drink. “We are going to leave.”

“Probably for the best.”

A few minutes of silence pass between them, and maybe it’s the alcohol, but he mutters. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I know what you mean… I enlisted and then my planet just,” her voice tightens, and she takes a long drink.

“They’re hunting my people like animals. I’ve watched too many of them die… I,” he too takes a long drink.

“At least Mandalorian is a religion. You can just recruit more,” she mutters.

He sighs in response.

“Which reminds me… I’ve just called you Mando all these years. That’s… That’s just your religion. Do you have a name?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

There is a long beat of silence. “We don’t share our names outside of the covert.”

“Why?”

“To protect ourselves. If no one knows our names… Then when we do decide to uncover for whatever reason, we can go and live a life of peace.”

“Oh.”

They drink again and she’s starting to feel it when she says. “You know, Mando, you’re pretty much the only friend I have. Like, of course I have all the dudes from the troop. But you knew me when I was little Carasynthia.”

He chuckles again. “You are my only friend. Everyone else is dead.”

_Well if that wasn’t a mood killer_ , she thinks. Her thoughts feel vibrant and fuzzy all at once and she almost misses it when he says, “Din.”

“What?” She asks.

“Din… That’s my name.”

“Oh. Does this make me an honorary Mandalorian?”

“Sure.”

“Hell yeah.”

They both laugh and lean up against each other. They’ve never laughed this hard with each other and it may just be hysteria – but they feel alive. When the laughter settles into comfortable silence, Din begins, “Tomorrow, just know that I’ll only be watching your back. I’m not trying to get myself killed with eleven mouths to feed.”

“Hey Din,” his name feels weird coming out of her mouth.

“Hmm?”

“I promise I’ll look out for that girl. I can’t promise anything, but…”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

1900 rolls around a lot faster than he would have liked. The foundlings are less than thrilled and he gives Adir strict rules to follow:

  1. Stick together.
  2. If anyone bullies you, kick their ass.
  3. If he’s not back in the next week, take the Crest and get out of there. Adir has flown mostly land speeders and if he can get it off the ground, he might stand a chance – a better chance of staying with a bunch of people who have no respect for their religion.



He follows Cara into the rebellion drop ship and tries to ignore the way his stomach is twisting into knots. These people aren’t Mandalorians, they aren’t going to run with the same swift efficiency that his people do – did.

“So, do we finally get to see what Mandalorians are capable of?” One of the other drop troopers asks him.

Din looks over at him but doesn’t dignify the question with an answer. He’s learned throughout the years that the best way to deal with blatant ignorance is to just ignore it. Trying to fight stupid with facts only just results in fist fights.

“I don’t know man, they surrendered to the empire. They’re just a bunch of cowards. Why are you even coming with us, Mando?” Another one asks.

Din can feel is blood starting to boil, but he simply looks away. Next to him, Cara stiffens, and he doesn’t need to be an expert in human emotion to know she’s steaming. He’s been made fun of his entire life for his “bucket”, for his creed, for the lies the empire spread about his people. Cara, on the other hand, is seeing the prejudice for the first time.

“I don’t know man, I heard that all the Mandalorians were killed in combat,” another dropper says.

This causes the first one to laugh. “So why are you considered so great in combat then, huh? Jeez command wants you to come cuz they think you’ll save the day. I bet you’ll piss your pants as soon as you see what-”

He doesn’t get to finish the rest of his thought because Cara is on top of him, pinning him against the wall, her forearm jammed into his throat. “You. Need to shut up. We’re a team. We need to work together and remember the enemy is the empire.”

He nods and she lets him go. Only for a moment though, because he mutters under his breath. “PMSing bitch.”

She whirls around so fast that there was no way that he could see one of her punches coming at full speed. Her fist makes contact with his nose, sending blood flying all over his face and the other two droppers that had been talking trash. With his howl of pain, a captain comes from the cockpit and yells at them. “What the hell Dune!? Get your uterus under control and quit beating up on your comrades!”

“Yes sir,” she grumbles and goes back over to Mando.

“Remember what I said earlier,” he mutters.

She nods. Fifteen minutes till drop.

They jump out of their ship onto the roof of the imperial data building. Goal is to infiltrate from the top to the bottom, take out leadership and then the grunts. Their 10-man team is dropped, and they begin their assault. Cara is just an enlisted and Din is just a volunteer so when they divide into smaller teams, the captain goes with them.

“We are sticking to the plan, assassinate the Moff and continue our assault downwards. Any funny business from either of you and you’re getting left behind. Understood?”

Din and Cara nod in unison.

They follow the Captain down the stairs and into the hallway. They are not prepared for the amount of personal guards the Moff would have and quickly find themselves under heavy fire. Din and Cara duck into a doorway, while the Captain stands on the other side of the hall. Still feeling the need to protect her, Din takes the outside, putting his body between her and the hall full of live ammunition flying by. Leaning out, he takes a few shots and she does the same, using his beskar-covered body as a shield. They both fall back into the doorway panting.

“We need a new plan!” Din yells at the captain.

“No!” The captain returns. “We wait for our men!”

“If we wait, we’ll be dead!”

“No one asked for your opinion, Mando!” The Captain barks.

Cara curses under her breath and Din leans out again, firing two shots, both of them hitting their mark. The captain goes to do the same, but a blaster bolt hits him right in between the eyes. Cara curses again and Din moves to fire a couple more shots.

“Any ideas?” He asks her.

“I saw a map. If we are able to get them to evacuate, we might be able to pluck them off as they move to the emergency exits. We just need to get the Moff out in the open!”

“I have a couple of charges, would that work?”

“Hell yeah! Let’s go. We’ll place one here, one behind them, and one in the middle to try and divide the heard!”

“Go. I’ll cover you!”

In the end, it takes the assault three days. Three days they fight, hardly eating or sleeping, but they win in the end. When the transport ships come bringing reinforcements, Din could cry tears of joy – he doesn’t think he has been so tired in his entire life. He also learns that Cara is one hell of a fighter. At first, he had felt the inherent urge to protect her, remembering the little Carasynthia that had offered him a cheese pastry decades ago.

He was very quickly proved wrong when she displayed hand-to-hand combat skills that rivaled some of his Mandalorian brethren. She is a noble warrior and he will never doubt her ever again. Fighting with her felt fluid, one able to easily predict the other’s movements. It was like their fighting methods were cut from the same cloth.

They are the same. United by loss and driven by proving their worth.

When they arrive back to the rebel base, Din still can’t let himself relax. He needs to find the foundlings –

“He’s back!” He hears a tinny voice yell through a helmet modulator.

His head snaps over to see his flock of foundlings lounging on storage crates. One is standing, pointing at him, and the others quickly perk up. It takes all of two seconds for all twelve to charge at him – Helena included.

After three days of nonstop fighting, it takes very little to knock him over and he quickly finds himself splayed out on the asphalt with the children piled on top of him. “You’re back!” One shouts again.

“Did you kill all the Imperial scum?” Adir asks.

“How was the fight?”

“Where is Cara?”  
“What took you so long?”

“Do you have to fight again?”

“When can we go home?”

The questions, exclamations and overall excitement makes him feel a kind of warmth he hasn’t felt in ages. He thinks that maybe this is love and then quickly tosses that idea away.

“They want to offer you a full-time job, Mando,” Cara stands over him, smirking at the sight of him meeting his demise by a bunch of kids.

“I can’t accept,” he answers, sitting up with one foundling still clinging desperately to his neck.

“I know. Are you off then?”

“I think it would be for the best.”

She offers him a hand and he accepts. Easily, she pulls him to his feet, shocked by how light he is despite his bulky armor. “I hope I see you around.”

“Hopefully not on a battlefield.”

“Next time we meet, let’s do dinner.”

“Deal,” he shakes her hand.

He gathers the foundlings, says goodbye to Helena and leaves. A new covert has been established in the outer rim. Hopefully, everything will be okay. Hopefully, Helena will find a new life. Hopefully, there will be more Mandalorians in the covert waiting for them. Hopefully, the Rebellion will win.

Right now, hope is the only thing he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have two theories here:   
> 1\. I feel like in all schools in the galaxy that are/were under Empire control were being fed Empire propaganda. So, instead of learning about the massacre on Mandalore, the Empire taught kids that the fiercest warriors in the galaxy laid down arms to join them.   
> 2\. I'm pretty sure Cara probably put up with soooo much sexist bullcrap as a drop trooper. I mean, I worked with a team of all dudes for a long time and once I proved myself to them, they treated me like "one of the guys" but dang did it take a minute to get past that.   
> Also, thank you all so much for reading, kudosing, and commenting on this fic. It means so much as this is like a fun lil side project from my standard #mandomera content. Thank you bunches!! <3


	5. The Fifth Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara and Din have a falling out.

The air is stale with people and alcohol, but these places are perfect for meetings like this. A respected rebellion trooper and a fugitive on the run. Cara has known Petra since they were little girls on Alderaan and when she found out her best friend was alive, well, she couldn’t _not_ meet her.

So Cara sits in the scummy bar, leg bouncing, waiting for her friend. She could be court-martialed if the rebellion found her hanging out with a known arms dealer. Not that going against the rules has ever really been an issue for her, but still. She doesn’t exactly like the idea of scrubbing latrines for the rest of her days.

“Cara-bean!” She hears someone call from behind her.

Cara whirls around to see her best friend, “Petra!”

The woman is petite, frizzy black hair, caramel skin, and shocking grey eyes. So much has changed in between being a child living in comfort and being an adult struggling to stay alive. They both used to wear their hair in pigtails now they both sport short, cropped styles. “I see you joined the rebellion,” Petra grins.

“Yeah, you still runnin’ goods?”

“All the time, baby,” she winks and slides up at the bar.

They spend a few hours catching up, swapping tales from their adventures. Cara tells tales of overcoming frightening situations in battle and Petra tells tales of having too many run ins with the Empire while smuggling. Cara feels good, relaxed even, but that may be the alcohol speaking too. It’s been a long time since she has talked to someone else from Alderaan; they are few and far between anymore. Speaking with Petra, she can almost feel the balmy air of her home planet and hear the soft breeze rustling through the trees.

“Do you miss it?” Petra asks, nursing her third beer.

“Miss what?” Cara returns, taking a sip as well.

“Home.”

She really doesn’t want to talk about it. Of course she misses home, but she doesn’t hate what she is doing either. The Empire should be made to pay for their crimes, and if she happens to do that with a blaster, what’s the big deal? Instead of confiding in her friend, she simply says, “Hey, I’ll be right back. Gonna go use the ladies,” before excusing herself from the bar.

With a shrug, Petra turns back to the bartender and orders another drink when a man steps into the bar. Not just a man, but a _Mandalorian_. All the occupants fall silent to take in the rare sight. She had genuinely thought they had all been killed off when the empire invaded their planet. But lo and behold, a Mandalorian in mismatched red armor scans the crowd of onlookers, his shiny, silver helmet pausing on her.

Her stomach twists into knots as he weaves through the people and directly up to her.

“Hi,” she smiles, trying to play it cool. The bar has gone back to its idle chatter, not bothering to witness whatever trouble a Mandalorian will bring. She knows there is a bounty out on her head, she just doesn’t know for how much, or if it stipulates whether or not she can be brought in alive. She does know, however, that Mandalorians are fierce warriors and aren’t exactly known for taking prisoners.

He nods and keeps staring at her.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She smirks.

Wordlessly, he sets a bounty puck on the table bar and it illuminates with her face, spinning slowly. She swallows.

“I can bring you in warm… Or I can bring you cold,” he threatens, resting his hand on his blaster.

Petra glances over to the women’s restroom and stands. There is no need to get her friend involved in this, not when she’s on shore leave, not when she’s a part of something worth fighting for. Cara has a real life planned out for her, she can move her way up through the ranks, become an officer, support her troops like Petra knows she can.

“Okay,” she moves forward. “Okay I’ll go with you.”

He doesn’t remove his hand from his blaster, but he herds her out of the cantina and into the market street.

Coming out of the bathroom, Cara eyes the bar only for her stomach to drop when she sees that Petra is gone. “Hey,” she shouts at the bar tender. “Where’d the pretty girl that I was sitting with go?”

“Oh, some bounty hunter came and picked her up,” the droid responds, almost with a shrug, if droids could do that kind of thing.

“What’d they look like?”

“It was a Mandalorian.”

Her heart flutters. Maybe there’s a chance it’s Din. Maybe there’s a chance that she can convince him to let Petra go. Fighting the blurriness of one too many drinks, Cara sprints out of the bar and through the streets towards the shipyard. As she runs, she tries to formulate exactly what she will say. Din, back on Yavin, had become a good friend. Not much time has passed between now and then, maybe a hand full of years. Maybe this is how he can pay her back for all she did to help him and his kids.

Plowing into the shipyard, Cara makes it just in time to watch him escort her up the ramp. Her stomach churns at the sight of Petra in binders and she hollers, “Mando!”

Both Petra and Mando turn to look at her. His body language instantly tightens, and he urges Petra into the hull of his ship. Cara runs up to the bottom of the ramp and calls for him again.

He pulls his blaster and Cara reels back in shock. This isn’t _her_ Mando. There’s no way. “Step away, Dune. I have to take her in.”

_What?_

She blinks. This _is_ her Mando. “She’s my friend,” Cara says lamely. He is – was – her friend too. Flashes of the battle they fought in together flash before her eyes and she can’t help but feel betrayed.

Because here they are, in a stand off at his ship. She knows for certain that there is no way she can get to her blaster without him shooting her first. And, right now, she’s not willing to gamble on whether or not he even has the courage to shoot a friend.

He says nothing but tilts his head to the side and adjusts his grip on his blaster.

“I said, she’s my friend Mando! Let her go!”

“I can’t do that,” he grits out. She can hear the strain under that stupid, silver bucket. He has no right, no right to be choked up about this. He’s the one doing her dirty, not the other way around.

“Why not?” She clenches and unclenches her fists. If only she could get in on him. She knows he sucks close range combat, but right now he has both the high ground and a blaster aimed at her.

He remains silent and shifts his weight.

“I said why the fuck not Mando!” She shouts at him, taking a step forward. Instantly, he tightens his grip and she knows, she knows right then that he will shoot her. Their friendship is no longer.

“Cara don’t make me choose between you and my people,” she can hear the quiver in his voice, but his hand doesn’t shake.

“She’s the only other Alderaanian I’ve seen! You can’t tell me my people are less important than yours!”

He again remains silent and it is really starting to piss Cara off. How dare he hide behind his suit of armor like he is someone righteous, fighting the good fight? If anyone is fighting the good fight it’s her. She works – fights – every day, has almost _died_ trying to take out the people who are really at fault for their lives being like this. But no, he collects bounties on innocent people just trying to make their way in the galaxy.

“You’re a real bastard, Mando,” she hisses.

He takes a step backward, into the hull of his ship.

“I swear, if I ever see you again, I’m gonna dent your stupid bucket.”

He hesitates for a second. She can see it. He raises his arm to press the button that will close the hatch and he hesitates, but the ramp still rises and Cara feels her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. Knowing it will be futile, she whips out her blaster and fires a few shots at the Razor Crest.

It doesn’t help. As she watches them take off, she sinks to her knees and lets herself cry. She lost two friends today, hasn’t she lost enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry for all the angst, but I wanted to set this up for why she hands him his ass in episode four. I'm working on an epilogue atm and will hopefully have it posted by the end of the month! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Cara become bffs again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate leaving something super angsty, so enjoy a wonderful epilogue from Cara's POV.

The universe, apparently, is a small fucking place. After a series of life-altering events, Cara has found herself on the backwater skughole of Sorgan, but apparently so has one Mandalorian – and whatever the hell is walking beside him. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him, but she’s pretty sure this is the same Mando. Hell, in her thirty years of living, of fighting, she has only ever run into one Mandalorian, and it has always been the same dude.

Din.

And she can’t wait to put a fist sized dent in that stupid bucket.

Though, it looks like he’s got a new get-up so that will be interesting to fight against. Looks like it probably has higher safety ratings.

He probably still sucks at close range combat, if she has to take a guess. That one time when they overtook an imperial city together, he was definitely better at providing cover fire than he was beating up bucket-heads.

Din talks with the waitress for a minute and when he motions to her, her stomach drops. He has a bounty. Of course he has a bounty. He’s a bounty hunter on a planet in the middle of no-where. Why else would he be here?

She moves. If he gets a gun out before her, she won’t stand a chance. But, if she can get the drop on him, then that will certainly level the playing field. Once out of the cantina, she darts into the alley and looks around. There’s no place for cover, but then she looks up.

Perfect.

Jumping, she catches the pole between the two huts and pulls herself up. Just as she expected, the Mandalorian comes pacing through the alley, clearly looking for her boot prints. He stops, having lost her trail and she knows in her gut that it’s now or never.

He looks up and she swings down, the soles of her feet making contact. He falls back, but she doesn’t let up on him. She needs to keep him close. They trade hits, back and forth, and she forgets how equally matched they are. He’s not the best, but he’s scrappy. What he doesn’t have in brute force, he makes up for in skill – which is about the opposite of her. Of course, she’s a skilled fighter, but she also hasn’t been properly trained by a warrior creed.

They both draw their blasters and it’s a stalemate.

Their attention is then drawn by a small creature slurping soup and, in typical Din fashion, he asks, “You want some soup?”

Back in the cantina, she sits across from him in tense silence before saying, “Look I knew you were guild and figured you had a fob on me. That’s why I came at you so hard.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

“Look, you’re the one that doesn’t seem to care about friendships. You turned _my_ friend in, you betrayed _me_.”

He is silent and she huffs in exasperation.

Rising she says, “Well this has been a real treat. But unless you want to go another round, one of is going to have to move on and I was here first.”

Knocking back the rest of her soup, she heads out of the cantina and into the forest to find the place she will camp for the evening.

She will say one thing, though. This planet is beautiful. The air is balmy, the temperature moderate, and the breeze cool. If there was more civilization around, it would almost remind her of home.

A small part of her, as much as she hates to admit this, is really happy to have ran across her Mando again. After the whole falling out with the Alliance thing, she found herself short of friends. Once she proved herself to the men in her platoon, she had never experienced such camaraderie. But when she left, they obviously didn’t follow.

So now, she finds herself painfully alone in a big, wide galaxy. She has no friends, no family, and no place to return home. Her planet and her people have been decimated.

As the sun sinks in the sky, she stokes a fire up and curls up at the base of the tree, her back resting against it. She doesn’t think Sorgan is a particularly dangerous place, but she hasn’t had anyone watch her back in quite some time, so this is how she has gotten used to sleeping. Upright, blaster in hand.

When a twig snaps, her eyes are immediately open and her blaster cocked at… A Mandalorian.

 _For the love of all that is good in the universe_.

He tosses a bag of credits at her and says, “Ready for round two?”

It’s an olive branch and she takes it.

She and Din fall effortlessly back into their friendship. He’s the closest thing she has had to a brother, and when they fight side by side, they hardly need to communicate. In fact, they barely need to communicate at all. After nearly three decades of friendship, she picks up on his sighs and head tilts, and she can _really_ tell when he is smitten with the village widow. It is painfully obvious, really.

And when they finally have to part again, she’s not afraid. Because the universe is really fucking small and if she knows anything, she knows they’ll find their way back to each other.

“Until our paths cross,” she smiles, offering her hand.

“’Til our paths cross,” he echoes.

She shoulders her bag, knowing full well that she’ll see that stupid bucket of his again soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this! It makes my heart so warm and fuzzy that this fic that I wrote entirely for myself was enjoyed by you! <3 Y'all are the bestest. 
> 
> Also, this is the first fic I've ever finished so let's celebrate that a little too!


End file.
